


Learning Curve

by Wallwalker



Series: Repentance [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, Gen, Meta, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-18
Updated: 2011-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-19 13:15:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallwalker/pseuds/Wallwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had taken Shepard forever to learn how to use her weapons. She wasn't fond of Cerberus's way of teaching her new methods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning Curve

Commander Shepard had been very quiet since Freedom's Progress.

It was probably nothing; Miranda had read her files very thoroughly. Shepard had always been very standoffish, had never approved of fraternization of any sort. She'd stood very much on protocol and order. She may simply feel that she had no reason to speak to her subordinates at this time.

Or there may be something else happening in her mind. And Miranda was not the sort who liked to take chances, or who enjoyed surprises. It was best to deal with this now, whatever the problem may be.

The intranet message had already been sent. Yeoman Chambers would send Shepard to her as soon as she saw her, she had no doubt of that. Kelly might not be the most trustworthy agent she'd ever worked with, at least in terms of her adherence to the Illusive Man's principles, but she was nothing if not eager to please. Miranda did not think she would be waiting long.

Hopefully they could have this conversation before reaching Omega, Miranda thought with distaste. She'd never cared for the place, having done business there more times than she cared to recall. And if there was something bothering Shepard, it was best they deal with it before they arrived. Omega was full of people who were good at taking advantage of distractions.

Still, she had to remember that despite her duty to watch Shepard, she was still technically her subordinate. Being any more aggressive in her attempts to contact her in a non-emergency situation would arouse her suspicions, or worse. She studied the waiting crew dossiers again, trying to pass the time as best she could. She didn't think there was anything more she could glean from them, but thoroughness had never harmed her before.

She wasn't entirely conscious of how much time had passed before she heard the doors open, and saw Shepard walk in. A quick glance at her own console told her that they were on standby for the jump to the Omega system, which meant that the visit had been reasonably punctual. More surprising, she wasn't wearing the officer's uniform that had been provided for her; her clothing was more casual, and honestly (although she'd never say as much) a bit tacky.

"Miranda," she said without preamble. "Kelly said you wanted to see me."

Kelly, Miranda thought, carefully keeping her expression unchanged. Not Yeoman Chambers. Curious. "Yes, Commander. I wanted to see how you were adjusting."

"Well enough, I suppose." She cracked a small smile. The change in expression twisted the scars that stood out in stark relief against her dark skin. It was an unnerving affect, and Miranda found herself hoping that Chakwas would be able to repair them soon. Then again, if she was unnerved, Shepard's enemies would be as well, and that might be for the best. "A lot has changed."

"Not as much as you might think, Commander. You're still fighting the same enemies."

She shook her head and sat down. "That's not quite what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you, Miranda," Shepard said, looking at her. Her eyes still held the slightest hint of red, from the specialized optic devices they'd had to implant there to restore her vision to an acceptable level. Another thing that made it clear she wasn't entirely organic, anymore. "It's been bothering me since I woke up, and I imagine you'd have the answers."

"Of course," Miranda said. "What's on your mind?"

Shepard reached down for her sidearm, pulled it out of its holster and laid it on the desk. Miranda looked down at it, then back up at Shepard. Some would have construed it as a threat, she knew, but she had no reason to worry. Even if she'd thought that Shepard was about to fire on her, she was confident that her biotics would easily be able to absorb most of the force from a pistol shot. "This gun. It's a newer model, isn't it?"

"Of course."

Shepard nodded. "I used a lot of guns when I was a Spectre," she said, turning it around on the table. "I never used anything with this sort of heat sink technology before."

"The heat sinks became standard approximately twelve months ago. The manufacturers have done an excellent job adapting their equipment. It's considered a much more efficient system than the old standard, allows for faster recovery. Especially for weapons that generate higher amounts of heat."

"Like shotguns." Shepard nodded. "Trust me, I noticed. The Alliance Vanguard would've killed for tech like this."

Miranda sat back, examining Shepard's face. There was something troubling there, beneath the surface. She needed to get to the bottom of it. "What's on your mind, Shepard?" she said.

"I'd never used a weapon with a heat sink before I woke up in that facility. I was used to the old standard. Much slower heat dissipation, more time taken between shots. It took me forever to learn the most effective rate of fire for my weapons." She picked up the pistol, slid the heat sink out - it was cold, unwarped. "So how in the hell did I know how to do this?"

"Ah." Miranda leaned back. She'd expected this sooner or later, in all honesty.

Shepard went on, not seeming to notice. "How did I know how to use this thing?" She slid the heat sink carefully back into the pistol. "How'd I know I needed a heat sink? It just... popped into my head, as soon as I picked it up. It didn't make any sense, but it was there anyway. And I don't like things being in my head that I didn't put there."

"Shepard, you have to understand. A lot has changed in two years, and... well, we had to do something about that."

Shepard leveled her gaze at Miranda, frowning. "By putting things in my head."

"Combat training, Shepard. Nothing more than that. Think of it as more training, except that we saved you some time. We did the hard part while you were unconscious." Shepard's stare was a lot more unnerving than Miranda cared to admit, even if Shepard was inexplicably out of uniform. "It's like drilling, except that instead of taking forever it took no time at all."

Shepard, thankfully, looked away as she thought about Miranda's words. "It wasn't just weapons training," she said, tapping one finger against her skull. A biotic field shimmered briefly around her hands. "I've learned a few new tricks here, too. Tricks I don't remember learning."

"I know." Miranda remembered seeing Shepard streak across a littered field, watched her slam into a crowd of husks, shattering them. She'd seen the look on Jacob's face, dumbstruck and jealous as all hell, and if things hadn't been so insanely hectic at the time she would've laughed. "More training, while you were unconscious. Subroutines programmed into the cybernetic implants in your mind, that your brain is able to access."

"That supersedes that things I learned in my own training, apparently," Shepard interjected.

Miranda could still hear the flatness in her tone. Shepard was obviously not pleased. "You can't argue over their effectiveness, Commander. You've said so yourself."

Shepard sat still for some time, lips tightly pressed together, as if she was trying very, very hard not to say something. Her hands, Miranda couldn't help but note, were entirely too close to that pistol for comfort. She was starting to feel at least a little afraid; she couldn't kill the commander, obviously. But she'd have to subdue her if she was attacked, and she'd seen what Shepard was capable of.

"If you can do this, what else could you have done to my mind?" she finally said, her eyes narrowing. "What other things are going to pop up at the right time?"

There was the heart of the matter, at last. "Nothing," Miranda said firmly. "Our instructions were purely practical."

"All right. Let's suppose that I trust you, for now. But you've already altered one thing without my permission -"

"Shepard, please," Miranda interjected quickly, suddenly much more nervous. "We both know that there was no time for training. One bad habit, one slip at a critical moment, and you would be killed... and it's very likely that the rest of humanity would die with you. I'm sorry for resorting to invasive measures, but it was necessary."

"Very Machiavellian of you," Shepard said, dryly.

"That may be so. But the ends in this case are more than worthwhile."

"Yeah." Shepard finally relaxed, and Miranda felt nothing but relief as Shepard took the gun and slid it back into her holster. She stood up, brushing out creases in her pants. "I can understand why you did it. But I'd still rather learn these things myself. Otherwise they don't mean anything."

"Understood, Commander." Miranda stood. "Did you wish to speak about anything else?"

Shepard gave her an odd look. "Not for now," she said. "I'm needed on the CIC. My ship's about to make the jump."

My ship. Miranda could hear the possessiveness there. "Very well, Commander. Thank you."

Shepard nodded, and walked out without another word.

Miranda, finally alone, sighed and buried her head in her hands. It was not something she would have done if someone else had been able to see. Dealing with Shepard was proving to be difficult. Something was off, somehow, and she couldn't point to any one thing as the cause. Was it possible that her research had been incomplete?

No, surely not. The Illusive Man had been as involved in this as she had. She might have made a mistake, but could they both have made the same mistake? That was highly unlikely, to say the least. At any rate she'd set up some test missions that Shepard would receive, once she'd had more time to adapt. She'd worry when she had more proof that there was actually something to worry about.

Shepard was being old-fashioned, anyway. No surprise, considering that her father had been the same way, according to her files. Still... when was she going to realize that now was not the time for tradition? They were fighting a war that no one else even acknowledged, and they needed every advantage to survive, even if some of the things that they did were discomfiting.

Miranda had come to that conclusion long ago. She expected that Shepard would do the same, in time. She just hoped that time was something they'd have.


End file.
